Do You Believe in Magic
by crestoflight3
Summary: There are thousands of pages in the book series. But not even seven books can depict dozens of characters' lives. When does one begin to believe in magic? A collection of one-shots, comedic and serious, depicting the magical universe and the characters we've grown to love.
1. Stories of Magic

**Author's Note: Crestoflight3 here. Hi. Chances are you haven't read my stories...I haven't written for Harry Potter a lot since starting almost a year ago. However, with the last movie coming out in just a few days...it feels right to start uploading this.**

**Summary: A collection of random one-shots involving major and minor characters involved in the Harry Potter series...some will be serious, others comedic, depending on the circumstances involved.**

**Disclaimer: Despite having two initials shared with J.K. Rowling, I am not her, therefore I have no right to her work. All writing on this site is for nonprofit, using it as a source to share stories with other aspiring writers...that sounds nice and proper, yeah?  
><strong>

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><p><em>Before <span>Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone<span>._

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><p>It was nighttime. The moonlight shone through an open curtain in the small bedroom in Number Four, Privet Drive. Mrs. Dursley entered the room, a loving smile on her face as she led a small boy to his bed.<p>

"Now, then, Duddykins, it's time for beddy-bye! Off to sleep!"

The boy rubbed his eyes with a slightly pudgy hand. "No! No sleeping! Video games…"

"Now, Dudley, it's bedtime. You can continue on your game in the morning…"

"No! I'm…" His statement was interrupted by a long yawn. "…not tired. See? I'm wide awake!" The five-year old smiled drowsily and made for the door.

Petunia grabbed at him before he could leave. "No, you have to get some rest. Auntie Margie is coming tomorrow, and you need your sleep so you can show off to her!"

"Tomorrow's my party!" the boy had responded, jumping up and down, his feet barely leaving the floor.

His mother had smiled. "Yes, dearest. Your fifth birthday party! My, my, you're becoming so grown up!"

"Can I stay up later, then?"

Petunia had shaken her head and helped him onto his bed. "How about a story to help you fall asleep?"

The boy had clapped his hands.

In another room, another little boy clapped his hands together. Harry had stepped out of his cupboard and crept up the stairs, into Dudley's spare room of used toys. Despite his young age, it was already littered with broken fares—teething rings, plastic chunks torn out, lay piled in a corner; a collection of toy animals that had never caught Harry's cousin's attention in another. A few empty bottles that the boy had not allowed to be taken away were scattered all over, and in the center was a pyramid of building blocks, created by Harry after Dudley's tower had first fallen over a week ago.

The smaller child was leaning against the wall to Dudley's bedroom, waiting for the story to begin.

The rustle of covers came first as Aunt Petunia tucked her son into his bed. "Once upon a time, there was a…"

"A magic land!" Dudley interrupted excitingly.

Mrs. Dursley cleared her throat with a rasp. "No, dearest, not a magic land. That's not real."

"But…" Harry said from his side of the wall.

Dudley had a similar reaction to his cousin. "But…it's a story. It doesn't _have_ to be real..."

"Dearest," Petunia replied, swallowing deeply, "magic is impossible. Let's try this again, shall we?"

Harry listened in, hoping Dudley would argue. If he argued enough, she'd have to give in.

However, he must have nodded, albeit unwillingly, for his mother continued, "Once upon a time, there was a banker, who saved his money and didn't spend needlessly. One day…"

Without staying for the rest of the story, Harry crept out of the spare bedroom-turned-storage room and back to his 'room.' One day, he'd find a way to hear a story about magic…

About six years later, a giant would come knocking on the door to a cottage on an island and change his life forever with stories of magic.


	2. Changing the World

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><p><em>During <span>Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets<span>_

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><p>Sometimes you can change the world. It isn't hard.<p>

Sometimes you have to struggle to achieve what's right.

And, sometimes, just sometimes, you have to go with the flow.

"Ron, maybe you should give up…" Dean said, smirking as he looked at a paper the redhead had just handed him.

Ron shook his head. "This is my one chance to get this to happen. I'm not giving up now."

Parvati looked over Dean's shoulder and snorted. "Like _that's _ever going to happen."

Ron became defensive. "Well, it could! Right?" he asked Seamus, who was passing by. The Irish boy just bit his lip to hold back his laughter and left the room, Ron glaring.

Lavender came forward. "What is it? What's Ron doing this time?" she asked Parvati.

The other girl, still smirking, took the sheet from Dean and gave it to her friend. Lavender raised her eyebrow at what it read and backed out of the room, shaking her head.

Biting his lip, Ron stomped his foot. "Well, if you guys don't help, it'll never happen!"

"Ron, it won't happen in the first place. Just leave it," said Dean.

"No! Don't you want to see Lockhart gone?"

"Well, yeah, but this petition doesn't make any sense. I don't think that 'smells like peppermint' has anything to do with teaching skills," Parvati answered. "I just hope Hermione doesn't find this."


	3. It's George

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><p><strong>Note: Short, I know. I'll start uploading longer ones.<strong>

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><p><em>During <span>Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone<span>_

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><p>"Mum…"<p>

Mrs. Weasley looked up from a cart of luggage. "Yes, Fred, dear?"

The redhead smiled mockingly. "It's George."

"Oh, so sorry. What is it?"

"Nothing. Just wanted to see if you could get my name right."

"Sorry, George."

His twin smiled. "He's joking. You were right the first time."

"…boys! Stop doing that!"

_Fred and George: 7438—Mum: 7_


	4. An Omen of Silence

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><p><strong>Note: Thanks to the three reviews and two alerts for this story...!<strong>

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><p><em>During the first half of <span>Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban<span>_

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><p>Remus Lupin hadn't specifically wanted to be a teacher.<p>

Having a secret that prevented him from entering most areas of work in the wizarding world, teaching had never seemed a strict area he could devote his time.

Still, Dumbledore had called upon him to teach—of all things—Defense Against the Dark Arts. Lupin had experience, and memories. And he had agreed. One year, if nobody learned of his secret. He'd manage it.

It was November. Preparing everything in his office for that day's lessons with the third years, he allowed the classroom to fill up before entering.

He should have realized something was wrong. It was too quiet.

Every student sat quietly at his or her desk, staring at the designs in the wood. Their books, as always, were left in their bags, their wands out in front of them, ready for the day's use.

But no one talked. No idle chatter or mocking. Lupin frowned as he left his office and swept into his classroom.

"Good afternoon, class!" he said, smiling down at them. A few smiled back, but none spoke a similar greeting.

Lupin frowned once again. "What, no 'hellos'? What'd I do wrong?"

A few kids shook their heads, trying to answer the question. However, even the most arrogant in the class remained silent.

"Class, could someone please speak up? I'm sure I would have heard if there was a Silencing Virus coming around…or not, it tends not to make a lot of noise." He smiled briefly, chuckling at his joke. "Seriously, what is going on? You aren't even trying to talk."

Hermione Granger, sitting in the front row, took out a piece of parchment and began scribbling furiously on it. Lupin and the rest of the class watched and waited. Several moments later, she handed the paper to him.

It read, 'Professor, today, in Divination, Professor Trelawny had us drink tea with honey, and she saw a bad omen in Harry's cup that apparently said, if we talk at all today, we'll become deaf. We're not willing to risk it as of now.'

He handed the paper back. "So you haven't spoken since Divination?"

The class, as a whole, shook their heads.

Lupin smiled slightly. "Gryffindors, you're supposed to be brave! Well, if you really want to stay silent for the rest of the day, you can take notes on the grindylow today, no talking in class, if you don't mind." He smirked. "Maybe Professor Trelawny should say stuff like that more often."


	5. I Regret to Inform You

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><p><strong>Note: I just saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows pt. 2...needless to say, I'm feeling very downcast right now. But this chapter isn't reflecting my mood very well.<strong>

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><p>"Mrs. Dursley, I regret to inform you that Harry…"<p>

"Did he die?"

"…no…"

"Get seriously wounded?"

"…I should hope not!"

"Fall off a building?"

"We have very strict policies about climbing…"

"Drown? Attacked by bats? Hit by lightning? Run over by one of those horrid school buses?"

The school administrator straightened his tie and cleared his throat. Petunia Dursley came to an abrupt halt, her eyes glaring beadily at him.

He tried again. "Mrs. Dursley, I regret to inform you that your…that Harry broke his glasses for the third time this year."

Petunia's nose flared. "He was involved in a fight?"

"Oh, no, nothing of that sort," the administrator responded.

"Tripped over his big feet?"

"…er, no."

"A ball hit him during exercises, then?"

The man sighed and scratched his head. "Ma'am, we believe that the tape previously holding his glasses together came undone."

Mrs. Dursley was speechless for a moment. "You…you called me over here for a matter of taped framework?"

As the administrator would later reflect upon, it was then that he realized that retirement sounded appealing.


	6. You're a Life Saver

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><p><em>During <span>Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire<span>_

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><p>"Hermione…"<p>

The girl in question looked up from her book. "Yes, Ron?"

"How much would I owe you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning. Harry looked up from his homework.

The redhead responded, "What would it be, no teasing for the rest of the week? No more teasing the teachers? Helping you with Spew?"

"It's S.P.E.W, Ronald," the bushy-haired girl replied, her face turning into one of confusion. "Are you going to answer me?"

"I'd give you my dessert…and carry your books for you…and I'd actually take notes for once…"

"Ronald Weasley, stop muttering and tell me why you'd owe me!" Hermione yelled, ignoring the looks several nearby sixth years gave her.

Harry saved Ron. "Er…I think he wants you to finish his Potions essay on the effects of different parts of chameleons in healing elixirs. Right?" he asked his best friend. Ron nodded helpfully.

Hermione closed her book and, sitting up straighter, looked at him. "Well, how much do you have done?"

Ron half-walked, half-waddled over to the table and pulled up a piece of parchment, on which read, in an untidy scrawl, 'Affects of Chameleon in Modern Potioneering.'

"Wrong spelling of 'effect,' to begin with. Where's the rest of the essay? That's just the title," Hermione said, frowning as she got up and took it in her hand.

Ron looked down. "Er…that's all I've got."

"But you've been working on it for the last two hours!" Hermione exclaimed. "You just got a title?"

"Well, I was going to write it, but then I found a story in this potions book about this gross side effect of this medieval cure to warts…Harry, never let me take it. It makes Snape's hair look clean," he responded, blushing slightly. Harry rolled his eyes and nodded, going back to his own essay.

Biting her lip, the brunette looked at the book. "I'll write out a thesis and the first and last paragraph, and an outline of how the middle ones should go. You'll have to do the rest," she said, her hands grabbing a spare bit of parchment and a quill. Uncapping a bottle of ink, she half smiled. "Just stop leaving this until the last minute!"

Ron settled down in her previously acquired chair, sighing in relief. "Hermione, you're a life saver."

"I know."


	7. Broomstick Models

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><p><em>After <span>Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows<span>_

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><p>"…and you wouldn't believe the line, twenty minutes for that toad spleen, and it's only going to be used <em>if <em>the flu comes back," Ginny Potter said, dropping her shopping bag onto the counter. Hermione Weasley entered after her, smirking.

"_If _being the countable word. It cost way too much," the brunette said, looking around for their husbands. Neither was in the vicinity, however. Hermione frowned. "Harry! Ron! Where are you guys?"

"Probably holing up discussing a new Veela," Ginny said, snorting. She started sifting through her shopping.

Hermione smirked back. "Maybe they're discussing work?"

"Yeah, like the Ministry's had anything good to look into this month. All Harry's been doing is trying to avoid those letters…somehow there's a curse in quite a few of the envelopes turning one's hair green. It's a nice shade on him, but I think he disagrees," Mrs. Potter said, grinning in amusement.

"Oi! You two! In here!"

Hermione and Ginny both shook their heads in mock laughter at the sound of Ron Weasley's irritable voice. "Coming!" they called, and, leaving the countertop covered in half-unwrapped packages and potion ingredients, went into the study. Ron and Harry—his hair indeed a brighter shade of green than his eyes—were staring glumly at a magazine laid out on the desk.

Hermione took one look at the magazine and scoffed, rolling her eyes and sitting down away from it. "You called us in here to discuss this _again_?"

"Hermione," Ron responded, not looking up, "you may not get Quidditch, but this is a very serious problem."

"How so?" she countered as Ginny took a seat next to her husband. "I've been to enough matches…no offense, Gin, but it's just a sport. No political backing, no importance in the wizarding world but as entertainment…"

"But it's great entertainment!" Ron said, looking at Harry. "We've been discussing this while you were gone…"

"All four hours of it?" Ginny asked innocently. Ron glared at his sister before continuing.

"…and we still haven't reached a decision."

Ginny pursed her lips together, half frowning, half smiling. "You don't even fly that much, Ron. Nor you, Harry."

"Look at it!" Mr. Potter said, speaking for the first time since the girls' arrival back. " 'Stardust L3. 0 to 360 in 10 seconds, firmer grip than the Firebolt, gotta admit, it looks a bit sportier…" He gestured to the two-toned tail of the broomstick on the page. It shone under the light, reflecting a brown handle, complete with grip pads, and what, according the advertisement, was a very aerodynamic tail with increased smooth braking features.

"Harry, you already have a nice broomstick," Hermione said pointedly. His broomstick had been recovered from the Ministry five years ago, after having fallen during his escape from Privet Drive.

Harry leaned down, glaring at the paper as if it had done him a personal fault. "I know. That's the problem."

"And we stopped ourselves from mooning over the Thunderstrike," Ron admitted, referring to the last 'state-of-the-art' broomstick model out.

"Temptation too great for this one, huh?" his wife asked, nudging the two boys. They simultaneously groaned.

"Here's the big question," Ron said, throwing the paper into the fire. Multiple other waxen magazines were lining the flames beside it. "Why do they have to keep on creating new models when we already bought the last one?"


	8. Wandering with Werewolves

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><p><strong>Note: As said in the story summary, this isn't just comedy.<strong>

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><p><em>Sometime prior to <span>Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets<span>._

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><p>Gilderoy Lockhart walked down the street, late one night, watching the clock strike eleven. Not as late as he had hoped. He would remain up for a few more hours, wasting away in that stupid apartment he had ignorantly purchased last month.<p>

Nothing ever came of it. Nothing ever would. Young as he was, in his mere twenties, he couldn't find the job he wanted. Not to work as a clerk in a store selling rotten potion ingredients or overused books to the general public. A face such as his…! He could do something so much better, if only they'd given him a chance.

Muggles had news anchors. If only the wizarding world had the like—Gilderoy knew that could be his calling. He had the smile for it…his singing voice wasn't half bad, either, but if he was to be a celebrity, mightn't he find something productive, inspiring? Something that would test his skill? The world just wasn't ready for the likes of him yet.

"Oi, you 'here. Got a bit o' knuts for a needy, eh?" a man said, coming around the corner. Gilderoy flinched. The man, stick thin and holding a long wand in a torn-up hand, came forward, looking dazed.

A thought briefly crossed his mind, to leave the beggar alone. He had obviously seen better days, and, in this area, a hungry warlock could be dangerous. "Sorry, good fellow. I seem to have left it…at home…ta!" Lockhart said, waving and walking away quickly.

Behind him, he heard the man mutter. "…think they'd be a bit more gra'ious after the werewolf in'sdent."

Gilderoy turned in his tracks. If there was anything he liked, it was a proper story. "What was that about a werewolf?"

The man grinned, showing several loose teeth. "Oi, you 'eard right. Grim ol' thing, but 'e was a se'ond cousin, once removed, and I don't like seeing any bloody village bein' terrorized."

"My dear fellow, you killed a werewolf?"

"No! Goo'ness, no!" the man said, laughing airily. "Turned 'im back, di'nt I? The Homorphous Charm—righ' circumstances, see?"

Gilderoy smiled to himself, fiddling with his wand. "Want a drink? I know an excellent bar down the street…you could tell me your story there…"

Two days later, a man was found wandering the streets in West London, who appeared to be Armenian. He didn't remember anything from his previous life.

And, less than a year after that, 'Wanderings with Werewolves' became a smash hit.


	9. Love and War

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><p><em>During <span>Harry Potter and the Half-Blood<span>_ Prince.

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><p>"I don't get it. Why do you want the Invisibility Cloak?" Harry asked, looking with bemusement at his best friend.<p>

Ron sighed loudly. "I—you know why!"

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, but…I want to have a good excuse why you're missing if she asks."

"Just say I died a tragic death. No…better yet, say I have dragonpox, and that I look horrible. That should get her to stay away…" Ron mused, more to himself than to Harry. "Yeah, she'd just go to me if I died and try to wake me with a kiss."

"Well, that _usually _wakes you up, doesn't it?" Harry commented, referring to the number of times Ron had fallen asleep doing his homework—without Hermione to help him, he spent most nights up late working on various essays—and Lavender had surprised him into alertness.

Ron glared at his best friend. "Harry, you're not helping. Just give me the cloak!"

"And what if I say no?"

"Then…then…I'll _suggest _to her that you two should have a bonding night…you know, best friend and girlfriend, talking about the one thing they have in common?"

It was Harry's turn to glare at his best friend. "Now that's just below the belt."

"All's fair in love and war," Ron quoted, feeling pleased with himself.

Harry smirked. "Which is it, then? Love or war?"

Ron's smile dimmed as a group of girls entered through the portrait into the common room. Ducking behind a chair, he remained there until Harry kicked him lightly. "Don't worry—it's not _her_."

The redhead straightened up, trying not to look too guilty or concerned. Finally relenting, Harry gave him the Invisibility Cloak, which Ron immediately threw over himself. His disembodied voice came from several feet away from Harry. "Which is it? Both."


	10. Transfiguration

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><p><em>During <span>Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.<span>**  
><strong>_

"Now, Mr. Finnigan, would you be so kind as to demonstrate the Crabapple spell?"

Seamus gave a start. "Er…what, Professor?"

McGonagall sighed. "Finnigan, please pay attention during class, or I'll be forced to deduct House points. Please perform the spell that we have been practicing since the beginning of class."

He nodded and pointed his wand at the small crab on his desk, clearing his throat. "Cancepomum!" The crab gave a start; before it could scuttle away, the spell hit, turning it instantly into a small crimson crabapple.

The Transfiguration teacher nodded her approval, turning to face the rest of the class. "Can anyone tell me why this spell is important?"

As expected, only one student raised her hand. "Yes, Ms. Granger?"

"A law of magic states that wizards can't simply create food out of thin air. One must have the right conductor—in this case, the crab—to create any type of sustenance, whether it be fruit or otherwise," Hermione said, as if she had the textbook memorized. Dean actually had his book open to the chapter…he gaped at her.

"How can she memorize that word for word?" he muttered, luckily not attracting the attention of McGonagall. Hermione looked pleased with herself.

"Now, an important factor in creating food items is the impossibility of it," Professor McGonagall was now saying. She smiled at the snickers. "A contradiction, yes, but one you all must understand…should you continue onward with this subject during N.E.W.T. years, this is especially studied. You can enlarge, or shrink, food, or use spells to copy the original item. You can summon food, if you know where it is…however, most agree that food gained by magical means loses many distinguishing properties, such as taste and the effect of the nutrients in the body."

Ron and Harry were dueling each other with a pair of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' toy wands, purposely ignoring the class. Dean was looking wistfully at the various food items mentioned—lunch was next period. Seamus was arguing with Parvati as to whether or not Trelawny would get the sacking, and Lavender and Neville were copying Hermione's last page of notes.

McGonagall stopped talking, watching the students perform their various activities. Her lips pursed. Raising her wand in the air, she let loose a turret of red flame, capturing everyone's attention.

"Blimey, Professor…what was that for?" Ron asked, trying not to look guilty.

"Mr. Weasley, that was a warning. Duel, albeit with fake wands, in my class again, and I'm sure Mr. Filch will have a suitable punishment. Same goes for you, Mr. Potter." Both boys looked down, muttering 'Yes, Professor.'

"Mr. Thomas, if you are hungry, perhaps you should eat a larger breakfast. Mr. Finnigan, Ms. Patil, please leave rumors out of the classroom. Nothing will come of trying to predict the future. And Ms. Brown, Mr. Longbottom…while it is admirable that you two are trying to study, please stay on task and save copying yesterday's notes for a free period." The class gaped at her, and quietly listened to the remaining lecture.

As the class packed up to go to lunch five minutes later, Ron said, "You wouldn't think it, but she's scary when she's angry. I thought she'd give us detention." He smirked slightly.

"Don't think I'm not considering it, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said, winking. "At least you learned a part of Transfiguration. How to go from loud to silent in a matter of moments."


	11. Inquiry

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><p><em>During <span>Harry Potter an<span>_d _the Chamber of Secrets_

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><p>A small boy with a mousy appearance ran forward, toward three second-year students enjoying their time in the dormitory.<p>

"What's that?"

Harry scratched his head and looked to where the younger boy was pointing. "That's wizard's chess."

"Harry, what's that?"

"That's a suit of armor, Colin."

"Technically, it's just the helmet…"

"Scratch that. Hermione decided it was a helmet."

Colin looked around and pointed again. "What's that?"

"That's the firepit."

"What's it burning?"

"…logs?"

"Oh. I thought it would be something cooler. Like snakeskin or…or bones!"

Harry grinned. "No, I don't think anyone here burns body parts in the house dormitory."

At that moment, Ron decided to chime in. "No, 'course not. Bones are too easy. We'd only burn fingernails and rhinoceros horns."

"Really? Cool!" Gullibly, Colin eyed the room again, pointing at something else. "What's that?"

"…I have no clue. Ron?"

Upon prompting, Ron looked over. His mouth widened in surprise, and he shook his head in bewilderment. "Hermione?" both boys asked at once.

She rolled her eyes. "That's ectoplasm."

"…what's that?" the three boys asked synonymously.

Hermione shook her head, and closed her books. "Look it up…try not to step in it, please? I'll get a prefect to help clear it away before anyone gets any bright ideas." With that, she left the table.

Ron and Harry stared at the shining green goo for a few more moments. "Ron, shouldn't you know what that is?"

The redhead recoiled in defense. "I thought it was from that monster of Slytherin's. Do you know everything about the Muggle world?" Harry shook his head. "Well, I don't know everything about the Wizarding one!"

"Harry?"

"Yes, Colin?"

"What's that?"

"That is…erm, that's just my sneaker. On my foot."

"Oh…"


	12. Eleven

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><p><em>The summer before <span>Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets<span>._

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><p>"Colin, Dennis! Downstairs! Breakfast is ready!"<p>

"Five more minutes?" the older of the two boys called from the top of a bunk bed.

Their father's voice wafted up the stairs, into their room. "Now!"

Both boys groaned; then, with an act of brotherly bonding, they both waited for the other to get up first.

After all, whoever got up first would have to leave the room first. And whoever left the room first would arrive at the kitchen first. And that unfortunate soul would be asked to wash off the table.

Which wasn't fun for an eight year old or a ten year old, let alone a sleepy eight or ten year old.

Colin Creevey blinked at the ceiling above him.

He wasn't ten.

Today was his birthday. Today-officially-he was eleven years old.

"Dennis, get up. It's your turn to wipe the table, anyway," he said calmly, a smile spreading across his small face.

"Na-ah!" his younger brother mumbled. "I d-d-did it yesterday." His sentence was broken by a gaping yawn.

"So? Today's my birthday. I'm eleven years old."

"So? Today's my...not birthday. I'm eight," Dennis protested weakly. "'sides, if it's your birthday, won't your presents be downstairs right now?"

Upon hearing this wonderful logic, Colin jumped out of bed, neglecting to put on his slippers as he nearly tripped down the stairs in excitement.

His father was reading the paper, still dressed in his clothes from when he had gone out to deliver milk, as he did every morning. "Father! Guess what day it is?"

His father looked up and pretended to think. "Well, I'd say it was a Thursday."

"No! Well, yes, but what else?"

"Hmmm. Let's see. It's not a celebration, is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

"You know, you know!"

In response, Colin's father took something out from under his chair. A box wrapped in brown paper and string. "Happy birthday, son."

However, before Colin could begin to rip the string off, a knocking came from the door. His father sighed. "Better answer it, son. You've got all day for this present."

So Colin gently set down the box and ran to greet the stranger, who turned out to be an owl holding an envelope. And it was the contents of the envelope that made Colin believe that this birthday was the best it could ever be.


	13. Jam

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><p><em>Before the Triwizard Tournament during <span>Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire <span>._

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><p>"A magical castle, tons of food at our disposal, and we're stuck with wheat bread. My life is officially over."<p>

"Oh, Ron, stop being so melodramatic!" Hermione scolded as she buttered her toast.

The redhead hung his head in apparent defeat. "I'm not being melo-whatever. I'm being honest."

Harry rolled his eyes. Due to a new idea of Dumbledore's, the school was having a 'health week;' all that meant was healthier meals and extra trips to the Quidditch pitch.

The meals weren't even drastically changed—there were more fruits and vegetables, but desserts still came in their amazing variety. Breakfast wasn't too bad—toast and rolls with fresh butter and jam, along with hot chocolate. Even Dudley would be slobbering over their dinner plates.

But, to Harry's best friend, this new concept was the end of the world.

"Death at age 14…that should be a crime! We could, I dunno, riot or something…protest against our starvation!" Ron said, looking around hopefully. Unfortunately for him, no one seemed to notice his self-proclaimed brilliant idea.

"You just don't want to go to Potions, do you?" Harry asked, smirking, while putting away an essay he had been checking.

Ron gulped. "You know me too well. I…er…jam is very…sticky, you know?"

"Great insight. Sticky jam. Who would have thought?" Hermione retorted sarcastically. "Ron, stop complaining. Your essay is better than that last one, and you didn't get too bad a grade on that one."

"It's not that. It's…well, look!" He sheepishly pulled out his essay.

Which was covered in a splotch of something red and sticky.

"Is that…strawberry jam?" Harry asked, half-disgusted, half-amused.

Ron nodded sadly. "See? I'm becoming clumsy from lack of nutrition! I blame Dumbledore and his latest grand idea!"

Hermione mumbled something about the meal being more nutritional than normal. Harry decided to intercede.

"Can't you, I dunno, use a spell to clean it off? Snape'll never accept that parchment with a stain..."

Ron looked up from his moping. "Good thinking, Harry. Know any good ones?"

"…not really, no. Hermione?"

She inspected the parchment. "None that would only clear off the jam and not the ink it's covering…you could try to ask one of the older kids, they might have an idea…"

However, ten minutes later, with lunch almost over, Ron came back to his two friends with a sad expression. "No luck. Though I suppose if you didn't know, I wasn't bound to find any answers anyway."

"You could ask McGonnagall," Hermione suggested, finishing her toast and wiping off her hands.

"What, and get yelled at for being sloppy? 'Starvation is no excuse for mussing up your homework parchment!' No, thanks. I'd rather get the bad mark." Again, Ron ignored Hermione's comment about him not starving.

Harry frowned. "You could—I dunno, you could just…decorate it or something." He rushed onward when he noticed his friends' skeptical remarks. "The jam looks a bit like the toad liver mentioned as one of the ingredients for the Numbing Potion…maybe you could draw something?"

"What the heck, I'm still doomed…might as well give it a try…" Ron reached into his back for his quill while Hermione surveyed the remaining breakfast for anything else to use to give color, looking more amused than worried.

Harry gulped. Maybe Ron should have just taken the bad grade…Snape probably wouldn't appreciate a condiment-covered scroll…


	14. Cookie Dough

**Disclaimer: All writing on this site is for nonprofit, using it as a source to share stories with other aspiring authors.**

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><p><em>Set during <span>Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows<span>._

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><p>"What are you doing?"<p>

"What does it look like?"

Ron looked at the bowl. "I'm not really sure."

Hermione shot a glare at him. "I'm making cookies. Isn't it obvious?"

"Oh. Is that supposed to be cookie dough?"

"Ron!"

"What? It looks like brown globs to me."

"It's not done yet. Give me a minute."

Harry was keeping watch at the moment, but he couldn't help but turn back and look through the door of the tent, to where Ron and Hermione were seated. Ron was sitting on his bunk, taking a break from his radio; Hermione was at the table, furiously mixing flour and chocolate morsels into a bowl. He wasn't sure where she had found the chocolate-maybe she had a store in her bag, in case of Dementors-but he wasn't about to complain.

"Are you planning on cooking that?" Ron was asking.

"Well, you can't just eat raw cookie dough."

"Yeah, you can. Look. Accio." Ron waved his wand, and a lump of the dough flew toward him. He grabbed it and popped it in his mouth. "It's not bad, I suppose. Mum's is better, but she's had years of experience."

"Ronald!" However, she tried a piece of it herself, smirking.

"So, _how_ are you planning on cooking that? It needs a stove, doesn't it?" Ron asked, an eyebrow raised. Harry was also curious.

"There's a charm..." Hermione started to explain a spell that equally heated whatever it was placed on. Harry was slightly impressed, although he knew he should have suspected as much.

And he was slightly excited for the prospect of cookies, as normal as they were.


End file.
